UPON THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT,

WRITTEN BY HIS DEAR FRIEND

MICHAEL DRAYTON, ESQ.

HAD Henry's name been only met in prose,
Recorded by the humble wit of those,
Who write of less than kings: who victory
As calmly mention as a pedigree,

The French, álike with us, might view his name,
His actions too, and not confess a shame:
Nay, grow at length so boldly troublesome,
As to dispute if they were overcome.

But thou hast wak'd their fears: thy fiercer hand
Hath made their shame as lasting as their land.
By thee again they are compell'd to know
How much of fate is in an English foe.
They bleed afresh by thee, and think the harm
Such, they could rather wish 'twere Henry's arm;
Who thanks thy painful quill, and holds it more
To be thy subject now, than king before.
By thee he conquers yet; when every word
Yields him a fuller honour than his sword;
Strengthens his actions against time: by thee,
He victory, and France, doth hold in fee.
So well observ'd he is, that every thing
Speaks him not only English, but a king.
And France, in this, may boast her fortunate,
That she was worthy of so brave a hate.
Her suff'ring is her gain. How well we see
The battle labour'd worthy him and thee,
Where we may death discover with delight,
And entertain a pleasure from a fight.
Where we may see how well it doth become
The brav'ry of a prince to overcome.
What power is a poet: that can add

A life to kings, more glorious than they had!
For what of Henry is unsung by thee,
Henry doth want of his eternity.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND,

J. VAUGHAN,

MR. MICHAEL DRAYTON,

UPON THESE HIS POEMS.

SONNET.

WHAT lofty trophies of eternal fame

England may vaunt thou dost erect to her, Yet forced to confess, yea, blush for shame, That she no honour doth on thee confer :

How it would become her, would she learn to know Once to requite thy heaven-born art and zeal, Or at the least herself but thankful show,

Her ancient glories that doth still reveal: Sing thou of love, thy strains, like powerful charms, Enrage the bosom with an amorous fire; And when again thou lik'st to sing of arms,

The coward thou, with courage dost inspire: But when thou com'st to touch our sinful times, Then Heaven far more than Earth speaks in thy rhymes. JOHN REYNOLDS.

THE VISION OF BEN JONSON,

ON THE MUSES OF HIS FRIEND M. DRAYTON.

Ir hath been question'd, Michael, if I be
A friend at all; or, if at all, to thee:
Because, who make the question, have not seen
Those ambling visits pass in verse between
Thy Muse and mine, as they expect. 'Tis true :
You have not writ to me, nor I to you;
And, though I now begin, 'tis not to rub
Haunch against haunch, or raise a rhyming club
About the town this reck'ning I will pay,
Without conferring symbols. This 's my day.

It was no dream! I was awake, and saw !
Lend me thy voice, O Fame! that I may draw
Wonder to truth! and have my vision hurl'd
Hot from thy trumpet, round about the world.
I saw a beauty from the sea to rise,
That all earth look'd on; and that earth, all eyes!
It cast a beam as when the cheerful Sun
Is fair got up, and day sune hours begun!
And fill'd an orb as circular as Heaven!
The orb was cut forth into regions seven.
And those so sweet and well-proportion'd parts,
As it had been the circle of the arts!
When, by thy bright Ideas standing by,
I found it pure, and perfect poesy!

There read I, straight, thy learned legends three, Heard the soft airs between our swains and thee, Which made me think thee old Theocritus,

Or rural Virgil come, to pipe to us!

But then, thy Epistolar Heroic songs,

Their loves, their quarrels, jealousies, and wrongs,
Did all so strike me, as I cry'd, "Who can
With us be call'd the Naso, but this man!"

And looking up, I saw Minerva's fowl,
Perch'd over head, the wise Athenian Owl:

I thought thee then our Orpheus, that wouldst try.
Like him, to make the air one volaray :

And I had styl'd thee Orpheus, but before
My lips could form the voice, I heard that roar,
And rouse, the marching of a mighty force,
Drums against drums, the neighing of the norse,
The fights, the cries, and wond'ring at the jars
I saw, and read, it was thy Barons Wars!

O! how in those, dost thou instruct these times,
That rebels actions are but valiant crimes!
And carried, though with shout, and noise, confess
A wild, and an authoris'd wickedness!

Sayst thou so, Lucan? but thou scorn'st to stay
Under one title. Thou hast made thy way
And flight about the isle well-near by this,
In thy admired periégesis

Or universal circumduction

Of all that read thy Poly-olbion.

That read it? that are ravish'd! such was I
With every song, I swear, and so would die:
But that I hear, again, thy drum to beat
A better cause, and strike the bravest heat
That ever yet did fire the English blood!
Our right in France! if rightly understood.
There, thou art Homer! Pray thee, use the style
Thou hast deserv'd: and let me read the while
Thy catalogue of ships, exceeding his,
Thy list of aids, and force, for so it is:
The poet's act! and for his country's sake
Brave are the musters, that the Muse will make.
And when he ships them where to use their arms,
How do his trumpets breathe! what loud alarms!

Look! how we read the Spartans were infam'd With bold Tyrtæus' verse; when thou art nam'd,

So shall our English youth urge on, and ery,
An Agincourt, an Agincourt, or die.
This book it is a catechism to fight,.
And will be bought of every lord and knight,
That can but read! who cannot, may in prose
Get broken pieces, and fight well by those.
The Miseries of Margaret the queen,
Of tender eyes will more be wept than seen :
I feel it by mine own, that overflow,
And stop my sight, in every line I go.
But then refreshed with thy Fairy Court,
I look on Cynthia, and Sirena's sport,
As on two flow'ry carpets that did rise,
And with their grassy green restor'd mine eyes,
Yet give me leave to wonder at the birth
Of thy strange Moon-calf, both thy strain of
mirth,

And gossip-got acquaintance, as, to us
Thou hadst brought Lapland, or old Cobalus,
Empusa, Lamia, or some monster, more
Than Afric knew, or the full Grecian store!
I gratulate it to thee, and thy ends,
To all thy virtuous, and well-chosen friends,
Only my loss is, that I am not there;
And, till I worthy am to wish I were,
I call the world, that envies me, to see
If I can be a friend, and friend to thee,

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT. CRAS'D was the thunder of those drums which wak'd Th' affrighted French, their miseries to view, At Edward's name, which to that hour still quak'd, Their Salique tables to the ground who threw; Yet were the English courages not slak'd, But the same bows and the same blades they drow, With the same arms those weapons to advance, Which lately lopt the fleur-de-liz of France. Henry the fifth, that man made out of fire, Th' imperial wreath plac'd on his princely brow, His lion's courage stands not to enquire Which way old Henry came by it; or how At Pomfret-castle Richard should expire: What's that to him? he hath the garland now; Let Ballingbrook' beware how he it wan, For Monmouth' means to keep it if he can. That glorious day, which his great father got Upon the Percyes (calling to their aid The valiant Douglas, that Herculian Scot) When for bis crown at Shrewsbury they play'd, Had quite dishearten'd every other plot, And all those tempests quietly had lay'd

That not a cloud did to this prince appear,
No former king had seen a sky so clear.
Yet the rich clergy felt a fearful rent
In the full bosom of their church (whilst she
A monarchess, immeasurab'y spent,
Less than she was, and thought she might not be)
By Wickliff and his followers: to prevent
The growth of whose opinions, and to free

That foul aspersion which on her they laid,
She her strong'st wits must stir up to her aid.

When presently a parliament is call'd,
To set things steady that stood not so right,
But that thereby the poor might be enthrall'd,
Should they be urg'd by those that were of might:
That in his empire equity install'd,

It should continue in that perfect plight;

Wherefore to Leicester' he th' assembly draws, There to enact those necessary laws.

'Henry IV. so named from a town in Lincoln shire, where he was born.

Henry V. was born at Monmouth in Wales. ? A parliament called at Leicester, A. D. 1413.

In which one bill, 'mongst many, there was read,
Against the general and superfluous waste
Of temporal lands, the layety that had fed
Upon the houses of religion caste,
Which for defence might stand the realm in sted,
Where it most needed, were it rightly plac'd;
Which made those church-men generally to fear,
For all this calm, some tempest might be near. ·
And being right skilful, quickly they foresaw
No shallow-brains this bus'ness went about:
Therefore with cunning they must cure this flaw;
For of the king they greatly stood in doubt,
Lest him to them their opposites should draw,
Some thing must be thrust in, to thrust that out:
And to this end they wisely must provide
One, this great engine clerkly that could guide.

Chichley, who sat on Canterbury's see,
A man well-spoken, gravely stout and wise,
The most select (then thought of that could be)
To act what all the prelacy devise;

(For well they knew, that in this bus'ness he
Would to the utmost strain his faculties ;) [prove
Him lift they up with their main strength, to
By some clean slight this libel to remove.

His brain in labour, gladly forth would bring
Somewhat that at this needful time might fit
The sprightly humour of this youthful king,
If his invention could but light on it.
His working soul projecteth many a thing,
Until at length, out of the strength of wit,

He found a war with France must be the way
To dash this bill, else threat'ning their decay.
Whilst vacant minds sat in their breasts at ease,
And the remembrance of their conquests past
Upon their fancies doth so strongly seize,
As in their teeth their cowardice it cast,
Rehearsing to them those victorious days,
The deeds of which beyond their name should last;
That after ages reading what was theirs,